Thirty Thousand Streets

Sunday, September 21, 2008


So, I went to Greece last week with moms and pap dukes, more specifically, the little Ionian Island of Paxos, just off the southern tip of Corfu. Indeed, the island was visible from our apartment in Kavos when me Ade and Dunc went way back in 2005, and in truth, it represents a sort of anithesis to Kavos (or Chavos) as I sniggeringly referred to it): sedate in the extreme compared to the nero-esque orgy of raw-alcohol doctored booze, consumed by rampaging British grockles, that Kavos represents.

Paxos seems to exist in stasis, pretty much, cheerfully insular and indifferent to a wider world seemingly entering into a hyperbolic media meltdown over investment banking. In truth this has some historical, nay, mythical precedent, as legend has it that the Island was created when Poseidon smote it from the Southern tip of Corfu, to create a sort of shag-pad for him and a Nereid (sort of a mermaid, I guess) he was kicking it with at the time. And it has to be said, it would be a pretty amazing place to vanish to for a week if you were in some loved-up relationship (the most interest I got on holiday was the unwanted attention of a Greek, vaguely Benny Hill-esque omi-poloni on a moped. Sigh).

So how was it? Um... yeah it was good. The weather... not so good. When I touched down on Friday the weather was gorgeous, though it was a little like arriving just in time to see the curtains close on Summer, as the next four days ranged from being merely torpid and grey, to out-and-out sub-tropical thunderstorms, replete with driving 45 degree rain, rolling thunder, and jagged bolts of forked lightning (which actually redeemed itself by virtue of drama, to some extent).

By Tuesday however, my iPod had run out of batteries, I was down to the last third of my final book, and pacing from room to room of my apartment like a bored bear in a zoo, wistfully thinking about computers (me, not the bear of my tortured analogy).

After that, the weather picked up and there was lots of Sun, but it still felt a little like drinking in the last chance saloon, as the evenings were drawing in, the nights chilly, and fellow tourists noticable by their decreasing numbers.

Still, it was good to get a break, and hang with my folks. Greek food's pretty damn good too – generally robust and delicious – and the sofrito and calamari in particular were exemplary. It was also a chance to chill and take photos too. Which I'll bore you with after this writing.

Got back on Friday, and last night was my birthday do, which I had at the Princess Louise in Holborn, which is a funky-assed gin-palace-resembling joint, with mirrors, booths, and tiles aplenty. A good turnout, and I must have had a good time, as the large bruise on my right arm attests.

Work tomorrow, of the pretty basic bread-and-butter kind, which I can't pretend I'm all that eagerly anticipating, but hey, that stuff pays for holidays, software, Macs and mocassins, so can't complain, I guess.

Thursday, September 11, 2008


I fly to Greece in about eight hours time. Can't wait. Means I'm doing the night shift at Gatwick Airport, wandering round til checking in time like Tom Hanks in whatever that film was.

Weather permitting, I'll mostly be lying on a pebbly beach reading crime novels (Derek Raymond and Edward Bunker are 'in effect') and I'll probably have the odd beer, and take some photos.

Take care now.

Thursday, September 04, 2008


Another day, another grimey buck tucked in the freelancer's pocket, in this modern day babylon. Still, not all bad. A project I worked on a few months back, which I thought had been quietly forgotten about, might actually seen the light of day, in a still recognisable form. Which is nice.

Someone stuck on my Arthur Russell CD today, which lasted about three tracks before someone said "this is wierd". Which it is, I suppose (that's why I like it).

Its kind of strange going back somewhere I work frequently, to discover lots of people have moved on, as has happened recently. Ade suggested it was a bit like Narnia, only of course, proceedings aren't being lorded over by an intelligent christ-like lion, so not all that like Narnia at all.

Went to see Will this evening in Shepherd's Bush, on the penultimate day of his working there. No tube, so got off at White CIty one stop up, and walked down past the BBC. I reminded me of one of the first nights out I had in London when I moved down almost four (fuckk...) years ago and I caught the 148 up for post work drinks, so this evening felt curiously epigrammatic somehow. Went for a pint and a chat, which was good. Will got half a pint of Tim Taylor, and it came in the rinkyest half pint tankard I've ever seen, which the people behind me at the bar were gasping at.

Caught the bus back, which took ages. Cooked fishcakes when I got in. Tired now. Listening to the Starship Sofa podcast, and observing that science fiction poetry is possibly the cheesiest thing ever. Almost Vogon-like in stature, in terms of badness, in fact.

Film tomorrow evening. Hoo-ha.